


flower in a vase / kept out of the garden

by HaroThar



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Adora Remains with the Horde (She-Ra), Background Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Background Mermista/Sea Hawk (She-Ra), Collars, Consent Issues, F/F, Prisoner of War, Sexual Slavery, Violence, War Trophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 11:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaroThar/pseuds/HaroThar
Summary: Perfuma finds out some of the many ways the Horde makes its fallen enemies suffer, but Scorpia just might win her heart over anyway





	flower in a vase / kept out of the garden

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [cat on the mat / kept as a pet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795534) by [Caracalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope). 

> I loved it, strongly worded fanfiction to follow.
> 
> I changed the position of Scorpia's arm band because I didn't think the wrist was really gonna be a sustainable location, but other than that I tried to make this as faithful to the original as possible <3

Perfuma wasn’t fully aware of it, initially, the high pitched sound that carried on. It wasn’t until the electricity ceased its buzzing and let her distinguish between the pain of the collar and the pain of her raw throat that she realized the high pitched noise was her. 

The guards that had forced her to kneel weren’t touching her anymore, but they didn’t need to. Bled dry of all her magic, terrified, and now crumpled on the floor in pain, Perfuma knew as well as they did that she wasn’t going anywhere. Words were said, muffled through Perfuma’s hazy hearing, and there was movement, shuffling. Perfuma tried to lift her head, and choked on a raw, wet sob.

Standing above her, looming really, was the largest woman Perfuma had ever seen. Wicked, spiked claws, daunting shoulder pauldrons, and a sinister, segmented tail, the woman also boasted a sleek black band around her upper arm, her wrist too thick with keratin to wear it there. Perfuma was in no state to discern facial expressions or nuance, but the woman’s face was the only thing out of place in this wretched hall. She looked… quiet. Quieter than Perfuma expected her to, staring down at the shaking princess on the floor.

Perfuma couldn’t quite make out all of Lord Hordak’s words, but her pain-fogged brain understood the word “again” when he ordered it. Weakly, she lifted a hand towards the woman, supplication gone unfinished along with her strangled “please, no” when the terrifying woman tapped the button on the band.

Perfuma was more aware of her screams that time, weaker, cracking, fluctuating with her spasming on the unwelcoming metal beneath her. She lost time, lying there, and the next moment she was able to perceive her surroundings she was being carried by what looked like six red arms. That couldn’t be right. Her vision was just tripled, woozy, out of focus. She couldn’t hear. Well, okay, she could hear, but it was just formless ringing, high enough in pitch to sting her brain. She wanted to curl up in a ball and chew on mint leaves until she felt better. 

That wasn’t going to be an option anymore.

—

Perfuma came to for real on a bed as hard as a moss covered stone. Was there _any_ give to this mat? She sat up, muscles aching and throat beyond parched, and tried to blink away the blurriness in her vision. She nearly panicked when it lingered, taking far too long to clear.

“Oh, hey, you’re awake!” the terrifying woman said in a voice that was not as terrifying as all that. “Here, don’t try to say anything yet; your throat kind of uh, might not be doing too great.” She handed Perfuma a cup with divots in it, looking to be built specifically to be pinced in those big red claws. Perfuma took it and drank it, face puckering at the taste.

“Yeah, it is not tasty stuff. I’ve found plugging my nose helps?” She demonstrated, carefully pinching her nostrils and miming drinking with her other terrifying, tapered claw. But. The action was… friendly. If Perfuma had ever seen a Horde soldier be friendly. Or, well, Horde officer, she guessed. Someone of some sort of rank. “But yeah you just have to muscle through it a few times until you get used to it. Also, I have food, but you are limited exclusively to brown ration bars. Well, okay, technically I’m supposed to use those as a reward, and feed you the kind of yellow-green ones? But man, those are the worst ones, let me tell you, and it just seems extra mean to make you eat those. Unless they’re like, as punishment, which I think I could do better than the uh. You know.” She gestured at the bracelet around her bicep, and Perfuma instinctively winced back. “Haha, yeah. That sucked. Please don’t make me use it again. Shadow Weaver says that as long as you don’t get in range of your runestone you can’t do magic, which I don’t really get but, listen. I don’t want to zap you again, okay? That was awful but it was necessary and I never want it to be necessary again, so just.” She offered Perfuma a strained smile, “Don’t do anything bad, okay? We can get along! This doesn’t have to be, you know, all bad!”

Perfuma slowly, slowly realized something she wasn’t quite sure if she could accept, just yet. But it looked like she just might have lucked out.

“I’ll behave,” she whispered, wincing at the soreness of her throat, and the woman’s whole body sank with relief.

“Thank you,” she said, and extended a claw, “I’m Scorpia.”

—

“Hello,” Perfuma tried, tentatively, to a group of Horde cadets. They looked like, well, ordinary humans. Green hair on one, thick muscles on another, less intimidating than the reptile based lifeforms with fangs and claws, in Perfuma’s opinion. 

“You got somethin’ to say, Princess?” the one with large muscles asked, flexing her neck so it popped menacingly. Perfuma promptly realized she’d made a terrible decision, attempting to befriend Horde soldiers.

“Uh, nothing,” she said nervously, backing away from their sharp glares and gloved knuckles. That turned out to also be a mistake. They stood fast and closed in on her like sharks smelling blood, smelling weakness. 

“Then why’re you coming over here, sayin’ shit to us?” the green one asked, too close, too close by far. And Perfuma was beyond out of magic, and she’d just wanted, and, and—

“What is happening over here?” Scorpia’s voice cut through loud and clear, and the four cadets stopped to salute. Perfuma felt relief at Scorpia’s arrival, whirling to look up at the frowning woman, right up until the strong one said,

“Your pet came over here looking for a fight, Force Captain.”

“I—I did not, I just—“ Perfuma shouted, turning back to face them, aghast at their lies. She was cut off by Scorpia’s sigh. 

“I thought you agreed not to start trouble,” Scorpia said, voice so genuinely _disappointed_ that Perfuma felt the reflexive tears spring to her eyes before the sharp sting in her shoulder. And then everything went black for a little bit. 

Her shoulder was _throbbing._ She felt every single heartbeat pulse through it, and groaned as she attempted to lift her head. 

Scorpia set her down gently in the hallway, a window overlooking the noxious gas and abysmally designed architecture of the Fright Zone to their left. Perfuma’s legs were shaking. “What happened?”

“You picked a fight with some cadets so I knocked you out for a little while to calm you down. You good now?”

“I wasn’t picking a fight with them!” Perfuma insisted instantly, leaning on Scorpia’s claw to support her weight. “All I said was hi! That’s it!”

“That’s it?” Scorpia asked with an arched eyebrow. 

“That’s it! And they just got so aggressive!” Perfuma was aware her tone was rather whiny. She felt despondent and bullied and sad. And hurt. By the first ones, her shoulder hurt so bad. 

Scorpia sighed. “I…” Perfuma looked to her face like she might find some sort of comfort there, and saw confliction on Scorpia’s features. 

“I want to believe you,” Scorpia said at length. “But you’re a princess, and it’s my job to keep the cadets safe from you.”

_Safe from what?!_ Perfuma wanted to scream. She was out of magic, which hadn’t done her much good in the first place, and some of these people’s wrists were thicker than her entire thigh. What threat could she possibly pose!?

Scorpia sighed again as she scratched the back of her head with the claw Perfuma wasn’t leaning on. “Look, just. I don’t know who to believe, so I’m just going to say it doesn’t matter who’s right and who isn’t. What matters is, going forward, why don’t you just stick close to me, okay? That way you don’t threaten anybody, and I’m there to make sure nobody is able to try and get a rise out of you.”

“...okay,” Perfuma said quietly, indignation and gratitude at war in her aching chest. “That, that sounds like the most reasonable…” Perfuma sniffed and wiped roughly at her eyes. “Okay.”

“Good,” Scorpia said, giving her a smile. “Now c’mon. We’re almost back to my room, and I have some stuff you can put on the welt on your shoulder. I know my stinger hurts really bad—nightmares and thrashing, you know, it’s a bad combination—so I always keep some on hand. Okay now I just have to key in this—shoot, wrong button. 3 5 4 no wait, that was, it’s just so tricky with these tiny little keypads you know,” Scorpia said with a self conscious chuckle, and Perfuma placed a hand on her shoulder, fingers carefully bracketing those wicked spikes.

“I have slimmer fingers, should I?” Perfuma offered.

“Oh, yes, please, gosh yes. 2 3 5 4 9.” Scorpia propped her claws on her hips with a smile as Perfuma keyed it in. “Oh that is so much easier. You are opening all the doors from now on.”

Perfuma giggled despite herself. “I can be your official door opener!”

“I need one of those, honestly!” Scorpia said with a friendly little pat to Perfuma’s hair.

Scorpia carefully, carefully, carefully rubbed a cooling salve onto the welt she’d left on Perfuma, and from that day on, whenever they left the room, Perfuma made sure to keep her head down and her mouth shut. 

—

“Oh, hey, Cimie!” Scorpia greeted after she’d answered the knock on her door. Perfuma stood, at attention, in the corner of their shared room, not knowing if this stranger would be a threat to her or not. She relaxed just a little when she saw the cadet uniform, but then remembered that cadets could cause her just as much trouble as Horde officers. 

“Come on in, man, is it really third moon already?! Perfuma, hey, this is Cimie, she’s a uh, co-conspirator of mine.” Scorpia gestured between the two. “Cimie, this is Perfuma.”

“She uhm. She isn’t going to be. Dangerous. Is she?” Cimie asked. She was a small woman, by Horde standards. Pale, with bags under her eyes, bruises visible on any part of her skin that wasn’t covered, and white bandages on her thumbs, index, and middle fingers. 

“No, no, Perfuma’s cool, you’re totally safe here. Promise,” Scorpia said, offering her claw in oath. Cimie took it and Scorpia turned her bright smile on Perfuma. “Cimie is a seamstress! Which isn’t really a hobby that gets promoted in cadets, so I use my rank as a Force Captain to order the materials for her and she uses me as those doll-standy-uppy-model-things.”

“Mannequins,” Cimie offered quietly, and Scorpia smiled brilliantly at her. It made Perfuma’s heart skip a beat, the way that smile hadn’t before.

“That’s the word! So Perfuma, I know you probably know this, but, don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Perfuma nodded. _Who would I tell?_ Suddenly, she missed Mermista. She wondered, with newfound _need_ to know, what had happened to her.

“And Cimie’s not gonna try and frame you, so as long as you’re nice to her, we’ll all get along. You can relax!” Scorpia offered cheerfully, moving a lock of Perfuma’s hair behind her ear for her.

So Perfuma tried to. Cimie seemed to vacillate between staunchly ignoring Perfuma (which she wasn’t very good at) and staring at her nervously. Perfuma was pretty sure the only reason she was able to get anything done was because Scorpia was smiling and babbling on and acting like everything was normal. 

Cimie really was a good seamstress. Perfuma didn’t know a ton about the craft, but she knew enough to know that Cimie was good. Especially for someone with no formal training, or really any training at all. Sure, her decisions to put lace and bows on every available inch of the grey-beige dress Scorpia was wearing was… not what Perfuma would’ve picked, but it was Cimie’s creation, and Scorpia seemed beyond endeared with the design. 

“Oh, oh I’m so sorry,” Cimie said at the very end, when they were saying their nervous and boisterous goodbyes, respectively. She dug through the bag she’d brought and offered up something small and red to Scorpia, who took it with careful claws. “I didn’t mean to forget, I swear I didn’t!”

“I wasn’t worried,” Scorpia said casually, waving the matter away, “You always remember.”

“Y-yes Force Captain. Sorry again, goodnight!” Cimie saluted sharply and then scuttled away.

“What’s that?” Perfuma inquired, more willing to speak up now that Cimie was gone, and curious about the little red… cylinder?

“Exoskeleton polish! I use it when I need to buff.” She set it in a drawer next to two other very similar canisters. “Payment for the materials and for my time.”

“She… pays you?” Perfuma asked with a furrowed brow. “But you’re the one getting a dress out of the deal?”

“Yeaaaah, we really are more even-Steven on this than anything, but that’s the way it is.”

“Couldn’t you just. Not ask for payment?” Perfuma insisted, still confused. Especially since this was Scorpia. She seemed less likely than some non-Horde soldiers Perfuma knew to ask for payment for this sort of arrangement.

“Yeah, see, I tried that, at the start? Not how things work here; it _freaks_ people out. See, you know nothing’s free in life, so if you don’t ask for payment for things, people assume that means you’re going to try and angle for something they’re not willing to negotiate for. You know, hang it over their head and stuff.”

“You don’t seem the type,” Perfuma told her, slender palm coming to rest on Scorpia’s unbanded bicep. 

“Oh, I’m not, but there’s no way to convey that, you know? It’s just an all around less-stressful situation for everyone if I just ask for payment for stuff like this. Besides, I try to negotiate for stuff that cadets could reasonably get their hands on.”

“I see,” Perfuma said, understanding more about the Horde than she had before. And all it did was make her feel even smaller.

—

“You want to see Mermista,” Scorpia echoed, like she hadn’t heard Perfuma right. “The other princess who it is basically my job to make sure you don’t see her ever again? That Mermista?”

“Please,” Perfuma said, sinking to her knees and not even embarrassed by it, anymore. “Please, just for a little while. Just to see her, just to make sure she’s, still alive, that she’s—” Perfuma stumbled over her words, not sure herself why she wanted to see Mermista so badly. But she needed to. She _needed_ to see her again.

Scorpia sighed and brushed her claw against her hair, looking fairly similar to Perfuma the first time she’d eaten the yellowish-green ration bar. “Perfuma, it. It’s not that easy. I’m a Force Captain, but I’m also only a Force Captain. She’s a princess being held in solitary, and if we get found out I would be _so_ fired.”

Perfuma cast about for something to say, anything that she could think of, and realized something. She knew Scorpia well enough by now to know it would work, but it was a dirty trick.

Well, where do flowers grow, if not the soil?

“Then I’ll go myself, and you can zap me with the collar as punishment. All the blame will fall on me, not you.”

Scorpia’s eyes widened predictably, distress on her beautiful face. “I don’t _want_ to zap you!”

“Then help me!” Perfuma insisted from the place at her feet. 

It was damning, the act of watching Scorpia’s expression crumble alongside her will. Damning indeed.

—

Mermista was chained to a wall in an expansive room, empty and echoing of loneliness with only a screen and control panel beneath it to keep Mermista company. The same sort of screen Perfuma had seen Hordak use to gloat from the comfort of his sanctum. 

She lifted her bedraggled head to glare at them, when they entered the cell, and Perfuma’s heart leapt to see her still stubborn, still fighting back against her captors despite everything. Her jaw dropped when she recognized Perfuma, and Perfuma rushed to her as Mermista called her name. Mermista could not return her hug, arms bound to the wall as they were, but she nuzzled her face against Perfuma’s and Perfuma felt her chest heave with a quiet sob.

“Scorpia, Scorpia please, her arms,” Perfuma begged. “Please, they’ll be damaged horribly if they’re left like that!”

Scorpia hesitated, conflicted, and Mermista quietly hissed, “Perfuma, what’s going on?”

Perfuma turned to her, and wished she could give happier news than this. “I—Scorpia made it so I could visit you. I can’t stay long. If we’re caught it’s trouble for all three of us, but I,” Perfuma cupped Mermista’s cheek and pressed their foreheads together, “I needed to see you.”

Oh she was going to cry wasn’t she? Stop it! She needed to be strong for Mermista’s sake!

“Scorpia, please!” Perfuma begged. She would’ve sank to her knees again, but she didn’t want Mermista to get the wrong idea. _What wrong idea?_

And Scorpia, predictably, didn’t have it in her to tell Perfuma no. Together, they gently helped Mermista to the floor, slowly, slowly moving her arms down, Perfuma hugging Mermista while she bit back tears as the pain of circulation reentering her limbs set in. She was gasping and sweating by the time her arms were resting in her lap, and Scorpia backed away from them, granting them some small token of privacy and guarding the door.

“Are you okay?” Mermista asked quietly, through the pain that clenched her teeth.

“I’m fine,” Perfuma said, petting Mermista’s oily hair away from her face, “Scorpia is so, so much kinder than I think even Hordak knows. I lucked out.”

Mermista snorted, glancing around the cell. In the Fright Zone. Where they were both being held prisoner.

“I lucked out, given the situation,” Perfuma amended. 

“I’m glad,” Mermista said, knocking their foreheads together. “I definitely didn’t.”

Perfuma felt tears well up again and Mermista tugged on her skirt with one weak hand. “Hey, hush up hippie. Sea Hawk is the exact brand of stupid and noble necessary to set out on a rescue mission into the flipping Fright Zone. He’s not gonna just leave me here, we’ve only gotta hold out until he gets here.”

The sentiment was more of a shock than a slap to the face would have been. Mermista was still hoping for escape. Still believing in it. Still stalwartly certain that people would come for them and they would leave this terrible place.

When had Perfuma stopped believing that?

Had it been at the very start?

Perfuma didn’t want to tell Mermista about the cadets that had bullied her, and couldn’t tell her about Cimie, and beyond a couple more reassurances that Scorpia was kind, and friendly, and sweet on Perfuma, there was not a whole lot else to say. Mermista told her about the guard that liked to gloat and spit on Mermista’s face when they fed her, and how Hordak did in fact use the screen on the far side of the room to send her smug messages and ask rhetorical questions. After that, there was nothing else to say, so they just sat and held onto each other, Mermista slowly moving her abused and damaged limbs. 

“Perfuma,” Scorpia eventually said, “we can’t stay any longer.”

They were as gentle as they could be when they chained Mermista back up, and Perfuma pressed a kiss to her forehead before she left. 

“We’re just waiting for Sea Hawk,” Mermista reminded her in a whisper. At least, one of them was. 

—

That night, the same as all the nights before, Perfuma curled in close to Scorpia when they slept, strong arms holding her slender frame like a pillow, or a doll. She rested against Scorpia’s chest, listening to her reassuring heartbeat, and felt… something.

Hordak had called her “bunkwarmer” in his long speech about her fate, before he’d electrocuted her. Scorpia had never asked for more than this.

Perfuma looked at Scorpia’s face, soft in the night, and brushed her willowy fingers over that strong jawline, feather light. She wondered, perhaps, if she wanted to offer. Offer up more than just warmth in the darkness, offer herself to the woman who was so dauntlessly kind in the cruelest place Perfuma had ever slept. 

—

Pefuma was there to witness the cat lieutenant’s ceremony, a silent ghost in Scorpia’s equally-silent shadow. Perfuma stared at the girl with open pity on her face, not knowing what the blonde Force Captain would do to her. She’d lucked out with Scorpia, of that she could be utterly certain. But the pale boy nearby made a pathetic sound, and the lizard boy’s tail was twitching with discomfort. Maybe, since this was the cat girl’s team, and the blonde one had been part of that team, maybe they all loved her. For a Horde soldier’s value of love, anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t be terrible.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

The spooky shadow lady forcing her to strip certainly didn’t make the situation any brighter. 

The scary Force Captain that Perfuma was pretty sure was named Octavia seemed the most comfortable, of the people gathered—aside from the spooky shadow lady, anyway. Mostly she seemed impatient to have it over with, though there was a wicked vindictiveness to the small smile on her face. Perfuma tried to believe it wasn’t because she was happy the cat lieutenant was humiliated and enslaved. She tried to stare at Scorpia’s hair, and nothing else, especially when the words “Taking her out for a test run” were said. She tried not to cry. 

—

Perfuma watched, silent as she always was, a couple paces back from them, as Scorpia tried to have a conversation with the blonde Force Captain. Once, at the start, it looked like the girl might try to attack Scorpia, but was quieted by Scorpia’s persistent cheerfulness, and offer of clothes. Perfuma didn’t mind getting roped into the offer to help. She and Cimie had been getting along fairly well, lately, and Perfuma had been adding her input into Cimie’s designs. Lots of flowers. Fake as they were, they brightened Perfuma’s mood in this dismal place, and Scorpia looked radiant wearing them.

Together, the three of them came up with a couple different designs for Catra to wear. All of them were modest, but still fun. Three quarter sleeves, loose pants that tightened around the calves, high necklines and diamond cut patterning along the shoulders. None of the women gathered had a physique anything like Catra’s, so they had to just sort of hope for the best on the proportions, but Perfuma could honestly say that she was proud of the results. 

“Since I’m commissioning you,” Scorpia said as she handed over a thin booklet and writing implements. Cimie looked at it like Scorpia was extending a live rattling serpent. 

“I, I couldn’t, that, those are, you don’t have to—”

“Are you refusing payment?” Scorpia asked neutrally, and Cimie actually squeaked.

“No Force Captain!” she said, grabbing the materials in a rush, and then slowly pulling them closer to her chest, staring at them. “Thank you ma’am.”

“You’re welcome!” Scorpia said with a cheery smile, and Perfuma’s fingers itched, a formless _something_ building pressure in her chest. “Same time next third moon?”

“S-see you then,” Cimie said with a smile. The door had barely closed behind her before Perfuma had her arms wrapped around Scorpia’s waist.

“Woah! Hello!” Scorpia said, returning the hug. “What’s this?”

“Would you like me to brush your hair?” Perfuma blurted, and then felt rather silly. Scorpia’s hair was short on top and shaved everywhere else. There was hardly anything to brush.

“Uh, okay?” Scorpia said anyway, and allowed Perfuma to urge her over to the bed and sit. Perfuma kneeled behind her, legs bracketing Scorpia’s tail, and brushed the short white hair. Slowly, then all at once, Scorpia melted under her hands, head tilting back and eyes slipping closed. “Oh, wow,” she murmured, and Perfuma smiled, the knot of _somethingness_ in her chest loosening, just a little. Sated for now, fed only for the day. It would be back. 

Hair brushing was only interesting for so long, though, so Perfuma set the brush down and rubbed her fingers over Scorpia’s temples, caressed her brow, pressed her thumbs into Scorpia’s nape, and scratched her nails lightly through the short fuzz.

“What, what’re you..?” Scorpia mumbled half-heartedly, positively oozing into a puddle beneath Perfuma’s fingers.

“It’s called a massage,” Perfuma offered softly, her own voice holding a warmth to it that she knew meant something more than she was willing to say, just yet.

“Wow,” Scorpia breathed, and when Perfuma was done, she pressed her lips to Scorpia’s forehead. Desert eyes opened slow to meet with floral ones, and the moment held. Perfuma’s arms crept down around her chest and circled around her neck, cheek to cheek, hugging her like that, and a strong red claw that Perfuma no longer feared reached back to caress Perfuma in return. 

—

Catra liked the outfits, and so did Adora, who Perfuma now knew loved Catra deeply. Even though she was a Force Captain, even though Perfuma had seen her kill two of Perfuma’s people with her own two eyes, even though her morals were still thoroughly up for debate, Perfuma knew that much at least. They both thanked Scorpia for her help, and when Scorpia gave them both a hug, one girl in each massive arm, they both teared up and tried to pretend that wasn’t what they were doing. 

Perfuma missed the following conversation, once they were set back on their feet. She was too busy staring at Adora, who was staring just as intently at Scorpia’s impressive bust. Perfuma knew there was plenty to appreciate, she slept against it every night. A different knot crept up in Perfuma’s chest, and this time she knew enough to label it as jealousy. Perfuma acknowledged that Adora had every reason to appreciate the truly stunning view that was Scorpia’s breasts, everything about Scorpia deserved reverence and admiration. But she also didn’t like it much. 

Then Scorpia was hugging Catra again, promising that she would make it through this okay, that Adora would take care of her and she would always be there if the two of them needed any help, and that first knot, the persistent one, rose up and choked Perfuma worse than the collar ever did. Scorpia was so. So kind, so _kind,_ even though everyone around her was so negative, even though she’d been raised in a place that was cruel and heartless and actively malicious, still somehow she chose to be kind, to extend her claws that could crush bones and offer up gentleness and care. Perfuma followed her back to the room and opened the door for her in something of a stupor, but opening doors for her wasn’t enough. Brushing her hair and massaging her scalp wasn’t enough. Perfuma wanted to give her the world. She _needed_ to give her more, to give her everything.

“Scorpia,” Perfuma breathed, high and flutelike, her slender fingers caressing Scorpia’s jaw fervently, “may I kiss you?”

“Perfuma?”

“I would like to kiss you Scorpia; may I?”

Strong claws gently gripped her wrists and moved them away, Scorpia’s eyes looking away from her. “You don’t.” She swallowed. “You don’t have to do that. That stuff about bunkwarming, that—you don’t have to worry about that, okay, I’m fine with things the way they are.”

“I’m not,” Perfuma said earnestly, and Scorpia went very still. But no, she looked hurt, Perfuma wasn’t saying this right. “I want to, Scorpia,” she tried. The knot in her chest was strangling her, and she needed to push it out, speak it into words and unravel it in deed. “I want to kiss you. I want to take you to your bed and undress you slow enough to savor it. You’re so kind, Scorpia, your heart is an oasis in a wasteland. And you’re bright, and strong, and beautiful.”

“You don’t, you don’t have to lie,” Scorpia mumbled, no longer turned away but still facing the ground, red faced with her tail twitching behind her. Perfuma pulled her wrist from Scorpia’s grip—because truly, Scorpia could never force Perfuma to stay put if that wasn’t what Perfuma wanted—and delicately tilted Scorpia’s chin up to look at her. 

“I’m not lying,” Perfuma swore, “I don’t ever want to lie to you, Scorpia, I don’t think I could if I tried. You are good, you are so good, and sweet, and so beautiful I sometimes wonder if I can even stand it.”

Scorpia’s eyes darted as they searched Perfuma’s face, lips parted. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because she leaned down, claws encircling her thin waist, and Scorpia kissed her. Perfuma kissed back, fingers threading through her short hair, one hand gripping a spike on her opposite shoulder, and she allowed herself to be lifted, carried, and undressed.

—

Mermista was dying.

Each stolen visit, that became more apparent. They were killing her slowly, torturously, and Perfuma snuck in food, water, and disinfectant with each visit except that first one. Mermista’s right arm was suffering permanent nerve damage, they all knew that. Her left arm could make a fairly full recovery, once it was down for a little while, but chaining her back up just meant the risk of permanent damage returned. The visits distressed Perfuma, but she knew she couldn’t just stop visiting her friend. She was her only reprieve, her only ally in this horrible place. 

“Sea Hawk,” Scorpia asked, one night after she’d returned from a mission for the Horde. “He’s a pirate?”

“He… is,” Perfuma said, confused as to why Scorpia would know that.

Scorpia nodded. “Likes his own cleavage, shiny mustache, brown hair?”

“Yes. How do you know?”

Scorpia pulled a small device from between her breasts and held it out to Perfuma. It was a communicator.

“We met, this last mission. He’s. Look, if I don’t help him, he’s going to do something stupid and get himself killed, okay? And he and I really hit it off. So.” Scorpia shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m going to help him out, if you catch my drift.” Quieter, soft and low so that Perfuma almost didn’t hear it, Scorpia said, “All three of you.”

Perfuma placed her palm on Scorpia’s arm, communicator clutched in her fist, and then kissed Scorpia like she might never kiss her again. She first threw her arms around Scorpia’s neck, then pushed her back, back up against the wall, where Perfuma sank with kiss-swollen lips to her knees, and made to worship the woman above her. Scorpia’s claw tangled lightly with Perfuma’s hair, and let her. She would let Perfuma do anything. 

—

Sea Hawk was more serious than Perfuma remembered him. Even the most harrowing of adventure never so much as put a dent in his plucky disposition, back then. But he’d had Mermista, back then. 

And he had her again, finally. In his arms, both of them weeping to be reunited, Sea Hawk professing that he had never quit, that he had never given up on her, Mermista sobbing that he had found her, she knew he would.

Scorpia got them safely to where the skiffs were held, Sea Hawk keeping one hand on Mermista’s shoulder at all times and his eyes in the vents and on the sky for the imp.

“Here,” Scorpia shouted, tossing the keys to Sea Hawk as Perfuma helped Mermista onto the skiff. “Fly due west and you’ll hit the Whispering Woods. The Twiggets will let you through to Bright Moon; you can make it from there.”

Perfuma hesitated in the hangar, staring at Scorpia as Sea Hawk hopped on and started up the skiff. “Scorpia,” she said, rushing back to her, taking her claw in both of her thin hands. “Come with us.”

Scorpia looked at her like Perfuma had physically hurt her. “Perfuma… I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that.”

“Please,” Perfuma begged, clutching her claw to her chest, to her heart. “Please, Scorpia, you’re _good,_ you’re kind, you would belong with us so easily. Please, come with us!”

“I can’t,” Scorpia said, shaking her head, trying to step away.

“Scorpia, please, I know you’re a good person. You don’t belong with the Horde, you could. You could be happy, with us. With me.”

Scorpia gently caressed Perfuma’s jaw, and kissed her, kissed her soft, every ounce as soft as the Fright Zone was hard.

“And if I leave, how many good, kind people are left?”

“What?”

“Perfuma, we’re running out of time!” Sea Hawk called, his yellow blade unsheathed and humming with energy.

“If I leave with you, who’s going to help Cimie with her projects? Who’s going to watch Adora and Catra’s backs? Who’s going to double check Shadow Weaver’s files to make sure she ordered enough grey and brown ration bars for everyone? If I leave, what Force Captains are my cadets going to be distributed to? Octavia? Grizzlor?”

“Scorpia,” Perfuma gasped, clinging to the collar of her uniform with tears in her eyes.

“Perfuma!”

“If I leave, yeah, maybe I’d get along with the others. Or maybe they’ll look at me like everyone else does, and be scared of my tail and spikes and claws and the fact that I can throw them one-handed. And I’d be used to it, sure, but if I leave with you, who’s going to take care of the people I take care of?”

Because Scorpia was kind. And she was good. And she had a bad habit of not being able to tell Perfuma no. But here was the core of her, the part of Scorpia that wouldn’t yield to anything else: she was endlessly, unfailingly loyal.

And if Perfuma left, who would be left to take care of Scorpia?

“Perfuma, we _need_ to go!” Mermista called.

Perfuma turned to them, and tried her very best to offer up a smile.

“I’ll see you again,” she called, “When all of this is over.”

“Perfuma!?” Mermista called, and Scorpia stared in open shock. 

“Get her out of here, Sea Hawk!” Perfuma ordered, turned, and opened the door. She ignored Mermista’s screams, her begging shouts to turn around, come back, come with them, what was she doing. And Perfuma did not let go of Scorpia’s claw.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/concrit welcome!!


End file.
